


Promise Me

by Bethy_sherlocked (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Afghanistan, Alternate Universe, BAMF John, BAMF!Sherlock, Implied Torture, M/M, War, War violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:19:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Bethy_sherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sherlock and John met in university and were dating before John went to war? </p><p>John Watson promised Sherlock he would come back. When Sherlock was told he went MIA and then was presumed dead, would he accept it? Or would he set out to find him and bring him home? And if found, how would John adjust to his old life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promise Me You'll Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> So this probably isn't very good but I had fun writing it so.. yeah.. I'm pretty awkward at this note thing. Not sure how long this will be but I'll try to post the next chapter soon! (Also, some characters will not appear until later chapters)

Alone in Mycroft’s outer office, Sherlock waited for the okay from his secretary (what was her name this month… Audrey? Athena? That’s it, Athena) to enter Mycroft’s personal office. He would normally have stormed out in a tantrum if left waiting in the outer office, but not this time. This was about John. 

Is he all right? Sherlock couldn’t shake the fear that something had happened to John in Afghanistan. As he sat, his mind flashed back to when John told him he was leaving.

♪♫♪One Year Earlier♪♫♪  
“Sherlock. Are you listening to me?”

“Not now, John. I’m in the middle of this experiment.”

John rolled his eyes (honestly, he should have known that Sherlock would not pay attention when he was examining the effect of sulfuric acid on whatever god forsaken body part he had now). 

“Sherlock, we need to discuss this. Have you even heard a word I said?”

Sherlock did a half turn to give John his best, ‘you are being ordinary, stop bothering me’ look. “What is it this time, John? I got rid of the toe-nails in the fridge like you asked.”

“I know Sherlock and I appreciate it. This is more serious. It needs your undivided attention. Would you rather wait until you’re finished with the experiment?”

Sherlock smiled to himself, ‘Always patient, my John is.’ “This needs to sit for 30 minutes. We can discuss it now if you wish.”

John sat next to him and said, “I received my deployment orders today. I’m being sent to Afghanistan for the year.”

“But… but…” For once, Sherlock was at a loss for words. ‘How could this be happening? Mycroft had promised that John wouldn’t be sent overseas.’

“Why?”

“Sherlock, you know I have to do as I’m ordered. Besides, it’s my last deployment, when I get back I won’t have to go off again.”

“I don’t want you to go at all.” Sherlock didn’t care that he sounded like a petulant child; this was John they were talking about. “I’ll get Mycroft to change it. He still owes me after that last case.”

“Sherlock, it wouldn’t be fair for you to have him change it. I knew what I was signing up for when I joined the army. It will go by quickly and I’ll be back before you know it.”

Sherlock turned in his seat to look John full in the face. “Promise me you’ll be alright. Promise me you’ll come home.”

“I promise Sherlock. It’d take more than a little war to keep me from my favorite consulting detective.” John replied with a grin.

Sherlock snorted and said “You know I’m the only one in the world John. I invented it.”

“Hmm, yes and then married it.” John replied drily.

“True, you are basically my mistress.”

“I should make a witty retort to being cast as the girl in this relationship but I’ll leave those to you.”

Sherlock smiled at his boyfriend and leaned forward to kiss him. They stayed like that for a while before moving to their shared room. Sherlock never did finish that experiment on sulfuric acid.

 

♪♫♪Present Day♪♫♪  
Snapped out of his reverie by Athena coming out of Mycroft’s office, Sherlock jumped up and strode in. “Is John all right?” He demanded as soon as he laid his eyes on Mycroft’s figure by the window. 

“You’d best sit down, brother.” 

As Sherlock sat, Mycroft turned to face his brother. Mycroft continued to survey his brother until Sherlock, tired of the delay in finding out about his John, prompted him:

“You wished to talk with me about John?”

“Sherlock, this is a difficult conversation to ha-“ Mycroft began, when Sherlock interrupted him; “Tell me, Mycroft. Is John hurt?”

Mycroft wordlessly handed him a paper on which were two emails printed out on it for Sherlock to read. ‘We regret to inform you that on April 15 of this year, Capt. John Hamish Watson was reported missing in action’ was as far as Sherlock got before glaring up at Mycroft. “Why was I not told before? He went missing on the 15th, which was a month ago!”

“Continue reading, Sherlock.” Was all Mycroft said. The second email had a later date and started out, ‘In regards to the letter sent on April 15th, we regret to inform you that Capt. John Hamish Watson will now be presumed dead. His personal belongings will be sent to you following this letter.’

At this, Sherlock buried his head in his hands and let out a choked sob. His thoughts were filled of John; John promising him he’d come home, giggling at crime scenes, kissing him goodbye at Heathrow. ‘John can’t be dead, he was so full of life. He isn’t dead’ Sherlock thought desperately. “He is dead, Sherlock. You must accept that.” Mycroft said gently. Sherlock hadn’t thought he was thinking out loud, without John to tell him otherwise, he’d gotten in the habit of doing it at 221B. “Why didn’t you tell me he was missing?” Sherlock demanded of Mycroft. “Because you might have attempted something foolish. I put my best men on this, Sherlock. They were unable to locate him. You need to accept that he is gone.” Mycroft replied.

“Piss off, Mycroft. I don’t need your sympathy. John can’t be dead, and I’ll prove it to all of you!” Sherlock knew he sounded desperate and vulnerable (something he never wanted to be around Mycroft of all people) but he no longer cared. ‘John isn’t dead. I’ll find him and I’ll bring him home.’


	2. Captured

♪♫♪April 14th♪♫♪  
“Sherlock, why in god’s name is there a skull on the mantelpiece?”

“Well you weren’t here and I need someone to talk to about my cases. What else was I supposed to do?” Sherlock replied. John straightened his computer screen to get a better view of Sherlock as he walked through the apartment. “Just so long as it doesn’t replace me.” John teased fondly.

“John! Nothing could replace my blogger.” Sherlock retorted indignantly. John heard the ding of Sherlock’s phone. “That’s the 5th time it’s gone off Sherlock. You really need to get going to help Lestrade.” 

“It can wait, John. I would rather talk to you. We only talk once a month. Are you sure the army won’t let you talk more often?”

“Sherlock, you know why they don’t let us. It might endanger our mission.” John replied. “The likelihood of your “mission” being compromised as a result of upping our conversations from once every three weeks to once every week are close to none. In fact, if the terrorists have not already hacked into the system, it shows that they are very unlikely of being able to hold their own against you and your out-“

“Yes, Sherlock thank you for that but I can’t help it. Regulations and all that bloody nonsense.” John interrupted. “I could get Mycroft to –“ Sherlock started to say when John interrupted him again.

“No Sherlock, you are not asking Mycroft to do that. Remember what I said about boundaries? Asking Mycroft to change the entire code of the army definitely crosses that line.” “But we should be able to talk more often John!” Sherlock pouted. “I wish we could to, but I’m in the field and we don’t exactly have wifi out there.” John sighed in reply. 

Sherlock’s phone went off for the sixth time in 10 minutes. “Sherlock you really need to answer that. He might be worried about you.” John said. “I will answer him later. The case is probably boring anyway.” Sherlock shrugged in reply. “Well, I’m about to get cut off anyway so you can go to the crime scene if you want.”

“When will we talk next?” 

“Not sure Sherlock. I’ll let you know when I’m back near some form of civilization and we’ll talk. I love you.” John smiled at him. “I love you too, John.” Sherlock replied. 

As he ended the video, John thought about Sherlock’s abnormal reply of “I love you”. After all, he usually replied with a somewhat snarky remark. Sherlock wasn’t one to show a lot of affection. It usually took something a lot more drastic to get any response of that kind from him.

John continued to muse over it as he prepared for bed. ‘Well, I guess he just misses me’ thought John as he fell onto the uncomfortable army cot. John fell asleep thinking about Sherlock, but god knows that wasn’t abnormal.

~~~One week later~~~  
‘Bloody hell, could this get worse?’ John thought to himself as he worked on the mutilated body under him. They had been under fire for coming on 3 hours now and already had quite a few men injured. John hated war. The price of holding your own was lads like this one, for the kid he was working one was… well, just that… a kid. He was probably 20 at the oldest and was already in the midst of war, his body and mind getting mutilate alike. 

John tried not to focus on that though, he only thought about doing his best, for queen and country of course, but also for Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock safe, and yes it was sappy of him to keep on fighting… er, doctoring… because of that, but he still did it. 

John finished patching up the kids arm and looked around for his next task. “Watson! We need a medic over here… quick!” A voice shouted from somewhere to his right. John took off running, knowing that a few seconds could make all the difference in life or death for some poor man, who lay wounded in a god forsaken field. 

As he followed the voice, John kept an eye out for enemy rifles that could be aimed at him, wouldn’t do for the medic to get shot, now would it? When he reached the man who was calling, there was no body. “Jameson is out there, he’s still moving but he can’t get up.” John followed his superior’s finger, which was pointing to a man out in the open, who was obviously unable to get up. John cursed to himself when he saw the problem with his friend. ‘He must have stepped on a land mine’ John thought as he checked his supplies before sprinting to his friend’s side.

As he started to work on his leg, John thought of all the times Jameson had cracked jokes to make everyone feel better. How, even last night before this bloody rampage started, Jameson had been joking and guffawing to lighten everyone’s mood. John knew he couldn’t move him without help, so he camouflaged him as best he could and stood to call out for help from one of his comrades. Suddenly, a searing pain hit him in the shoulder; he dropped to his knees and gripped the gaping hole where the bullet had entered. He did his best to stop the bleeding, but found himself becoming faint from loss of blood.

He felt hands grab him roughly, and was dimly aware of the sound of Arabic. He slipped into unconsciousness thinking, ‘Sherlock will kill me when I get back.’

♪♫♪May 22nd♪♫♪

Sherlock sat in the airport, finger tips pressed together, musing over the facts he knew of John’s abduction. There wasn’t much. The only witness was hardly valuable because he was barely conscious at the time. A look of determination passed briefly over his face before being replaced with a more brooding one. ‘Will I be able to find John?’ Sherlock had never doubted himself before this. He was sure that John was still alive but was lost on how to find him. He was roused by the announcement to board the plane which would take him closer to John; one step closer to finding John and proving to everyone that John would never fully leave him and he would never give up on John.

When the plane landed in Afghanistan, he was flagged down by a sergeant in standard military dress, who informed him that he would be taken to the base at which John’s outfit was currently staying. ‘Mycroft will hold this over my head for months when I get back.’ Sherlock thought to himself, finding that he didn’t care if Mycroft never let him forget it, as long as John was there with Sherlock. After the hour long trip in an army jeep, Sherlock was ready to get out and stretch his legs. He had worked up steam thinking about what could happen, what may already have happened, to John while in enemy hands. He was now more determined than ever that he would find John and bring him home no matter the cost. 

Once they had arrived at the base, Sherlock was taken to the commanding officer’s office. “Please sit, Mr. Holmes. My name is Lt. Col. James Moriarty, but please, call me Jim.” Sherlock nodded at the greeting and replied, “I do not wish to waste time with useless pleasantries, Colonel. What steps were attempted to recover John?” Moriarty smiled faintly and responded, “I was warned that you would want to get right to the point Mr. Holmes, but I can assure you, we did everything in our power to recover your friend and we are quite certain that he is dead.” Sherlock sneered at this and said, “Well then you are wrong as well.”

At this, Moriarty’s smile became a trifle more forced. As he motioned to a file sitting on top of his desk, he said. “This is our official report on the effort to find Capt. John Watson. If you need anything else, I was told to put every file on him entirely at your disposal.” Moriarty obviously disapproved of handing over military files to Sherlock, and showed it by adding, “If any of this is leaked, I will personally skin you.”

Sherlock wordlessly took the file and started to leave, pausing at the door only long enough to remark to Moriarty, “I will find John even if it means I compromise the entire British army” and then swept out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You weren't expecting Moriarty to be in the army were you? I fooled you.. come one didn't I? maybe just a little bit? Oh fine.. Next chapter should be posted in hopefully next couple of weeks.. depends on how much time I have. Hope you're enjoying it!


	3. Hanging on a Hope

♪♫♪April 22nd♪♫♪  
John came to in a dark room. Once his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he realized that he was not in a room, but a dark, unlit cave. He took in his surroundings, they weren’t much. A table, chair and a few sacks thrown in a corner looking somewhat like a makeshift bed. The only light in the room came from a small fire, which was even now dying into embers. John moved to sit up on the only cot, which he was currently lying on, and immediately fell back groaning. He felt his shoulder throb and twisted his neck around to try and see the problem. There was a sodden, but clean, bandage on his shoulder, which he started to lift to view the bullet wound. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Startled, John snapped his head around looking for the distinctly English voice. In a dark corner sat a figure. The figure moved forward into the dim light. John noticed that he was a middle-aged man with thinning dark hair, a rudely trimmed beard, and a stooped posture. 

“The wound needs time to stop bleeding before you should look at it.” The man said, somewhat admonishingly. John replied, “I am a doctor. I know that it needs time to stop bleeding but I need to see the damage.” “The bullet is out, but I’m afraid that I did not stitch it very well, my hands are not what they used to be. You will have scars, but that does not matter as you will never leave this place alive.” The man said gloomily.

“Well you’re just a ball of sunshine aren’t you?” John replied sarcastically, “How do you know I won’t leave?”

“I have been here for 5 years. The name’s Stewart by the way. I am sorry if I seem overly morbid, but do not get your hopes up. There is no escape from this place. You will soon realize this.”

At this the man retired to his corner where he sat, apparently in a doze, obviously done talking. John managed to sit up without blacking out, which he took as a good sign. He flexed all his other muscles to make sure he had no other injuries. Satisfied that he was uninjured except for his shoulder, John glanced around the room for something to drink, knowing that with his blood loss, water was vital for him to recuperate. Noticing a pitcher and glass on the table, he forced himself to stand, despite the dizziness, and made his way slowly to the table. Once there, he sat in the chair and shakily poured himself a glass of water. Once his thirst was satisfied, he again looked around the room, this time for a door or exit. A tunnel exiting the cave was on the far wall, but there was a heavy door, iron by the looks of it, blocking it. John made a note to himself to see if it was locked, but he wasn’t sure that he could even open it with his injury.   
Feeling tired once more, John made his way to the cot and lay back down. He was almost immediately asleep. 

♪♫♪May 23rd♪♫♪

“Useless!” Sherlock stormed around the office, frustrated. In the file there was nothing that was useful to him. He had spent the past 3 hours sifting through everything in the file on John, and he had yet to find something that could help him. Sherlock stalked to the door and yanked it open. He paced through the hall until he found Colonel Moriarty. “I will need to see the other files on this base.” Sherlock stated. 

At this, Moriarty became visibly enraged, “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just demand classified files and expect to get them.” Sherlock looked bored and replied, “I believe I was to be given carte blanche with any file I thought necessary. If you wish, you may contact my brother and ask his opinion.”

Moriarty glared at him for a minute before turning on his heel and stalking back to his office. Sherlock followed him into the office. Walking over to the desk, Moriarty opened a drawer and pulled out a key. He handed it to Sherlock and said, “If anything is taken and not replaced from that filing cabinet, your brother will be hearing from me, and it won’t be to commend you on a job well done.” Sherlock accepted the key and stalked around the desk to the filing cabinet. After watching him for a few moments, Moriarty left the office, slamming the door. 

Distracted momentarily from his files by the door, Sherlock mused on the Colonel’s strange abhorrence of showing the files. This thought was quickly pushed away as he turned back to examining the files. A few hours later, he was still no closer to finding his John. He put the last file away and slammed the drawer shut in disgust. Sherlock sat in the chair behind the desk to muse on how he should proceed from there. Suddenly, he jumped up and made his way back to his quarters. Changing his distinct London attire to the common robes of the natives, Sherlock made his way to the nearby town to ask the villagers some questions. After all, no one is as knowledgeable as the local gossips found in the market. 

After questioning the villagers, Sherlock had found out that there was a camp hidden in the caves to the north of the town that was rumored to be the terrorists main base in that area. Sherlock decided that he would try to infiltrate it to find out if John was there. Knowing that it was late, Sherlock decided to wait until the next day to enact his plan of spying on and infiltrating the camp. He returned to his quarters and spent the rest of the evening going over the facts and determining the best course of action for the following day.

♪♫♪April 23rd♪♫♪  
When John woke up next, it was to a voice shouting in Arabic through the door. Glancing over at Stewart, John noticed that he was standing near the wall farthest from the door with his hands clasped above and behind his head. He motioned for John to do the same. As John struggled to his feet, wincing from the throbbing pain in his shoulder, the door burst open and a few men filed in with guns pointed at the two men standing at the opposite wall. The final man to come in didn’t have a gun and was obviously the leader. He walked over to John and his companion and spoke in Arabic. Stewart answered and then put his hands down. He told John to do the same before having another exchange in Arabic with the leader. 

Suddenly, both men turned to face John. Stewart spoke again, this time in English, “You are a doctor, yes?”

“Yes. I’ve already told you.” John replied with a bit of impatience. “Well, you’re expertise is required by these men. They are giving you the choice to help, or they will be forced to… persuade you.” Stewart replied. “Really? Well you can tell him to go fuck himself. I won’t help him.” John stated emphatically. “I would recommend that you just agree… the consequences will be more pleasant this way.” John huffed and asked, “Why do they need me? Don’t they have doctors?” Stewart hesitated before replying, “Their knowledge of the medical field is limited to say the least. I am their current extent of medical help, and I am not a doctor. They desperately need an experienced doctor.” John glanced at the leader once more who was watching the exchange with interest and said, “Well you can tell him that I won’t help him or any other enemy of England.”

“A noble gesture surely, Doctor Watson, but you would be wise to rethink that decision. They do not take kindly to those who go against their plans.” John laughed drily and replied, “I’m not exactly looking for their approval. You can tell him that I emphatically refuse to help.” 

Stewart had a brief exchange with the man. After a few sentences, the leader visibly swelled with rage. The exchange became more heated when Stewart turned back to John, “He would like you to reconsider your decision before they are forced to make you. You should really accept their offer.” John looked pointedly at the leader and replied, “Fuck him. I won’t help.” 

Another conversation took place in Arabic, when the leader stormed out motioning for his men to follow. Stewart didn’t say anything else but looked at John as if he was thinking about what flowers would work at John’s funeral. 

About 30 minutes later, the doors banged open again and this time only two armed men walked in. They each grabbed one of John’s arms and dragged him out of the room. Another fifteen minutes and John’s screams could be heard throughout the caves. They continued off and on for a few hours when John was dragged, unconscious, back into the cave where Stewart still sat unfazed. 

When John came to, he considered his position. He could help them, thereby giving them valuable medical knowledge that without, they would be much easier to take down. Or he could continue to refuse and face more torture and possible death. John knew his duty was to take the latter course, but it was a daunting task and one he wished he could shirk, but he was too loyal to be able to do it. He resolved to refuse for as long as possible. He knew they could hurt him, probably not permanently because they needed him, but they would hurt him. All he could rely on was his unit finding him. He only hoped they got there soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I now know where I want to story to go so hopefully I'll be able to update it weekly.. we'll see. Hope your liking it!


	4. Pain and Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the crappy title.. I'm a bit brain-dead at the moment so you will just have to bear with me.. Carry on (my wayward son)

♪♫♪ May 24 ♪♫♪  
As Sherlock made his way along the path in the mountain, he mused on the discrepancies he had found in the files on John. He knew that there was information missing that should have been in there, but who had removed it? Suddenly, he spied something ahead and all other thoughts were pushed roughly from his head. It was the encampment of the terrorists. Sherlock knew that his clothes would make it difficult to spot him as he had chosen them specifically to blend in with the bland color of the desert. Cautiously, he crept to a position where he could observe, without being observed. 

The camp was no more than a collection of tents around the mouths of a few caves. Sherlock could see that the camps were well stocked with supplies and weapons. It would be difficult to infiltrate it, but Sherlock was determined to try, if just to find out if John was in there. He was able to pinpoint the weak spots of the guard who were patrolling, but none of this would help if he couldn’t pass off being a member of the group. 

Just when he had made up his mind to sneak down and test his hypothesis about the weak points, a group emerged from the largest cave. There were five men in the group. Two had guns, one seemed to be the leader, another looked like a prisoner, and the final one had a sack over his head. Sherlock immediately made sure that he was inconspicuous, before concentrating on the group again. Suddenly, the sack was ripped off the last man’s head to reveal his John. Desperately wanting to cry out to him, Sherlock could only watch as John blinked owlishly in the sunlight, as if he hadn’t seen it in a while, which was probably true. 

Sherlock drank in the sight of his missing boyfriend, he didn’t look good. He had a decided limp, a bandage on his shoulder, and the rest of his visible body was mottled with bruises and cuts. He had a pained and horrified look on his face that didn’t belong there. The scruffy beard and shaggy hair made him look gaunt and broken. Sherlock winced at the sight of all his injuries but then his expression hardened; the ones who hurt John would pay, and pay dearly for what they did. 

Still fuming at being unable to rescue John immediately, Sherlock returned to the base to lay out a plan for the rescue of his doctor. Nothing would stop him, and nothing would save those who had hurt John.

 

♪♫♪ May 7 ♪♫♪  
Two weeks. It’s been two weeks of constant pain and fear but John has yet to give in and help his enemies. Sure, he’s thought about it… who wouldn’t? But he still has faith that he will be rescued. Stewart has told him time and again that it would be better for him to just give in, accept that he’s never leaving and just stop all the pain. It was tempting to be sure, but John was still determined that he wouldn’t give in. He just wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. 

Lying on the beaten up cot, John tried to steel his body for the torture that would come soon. It was getting late and they usually came in to talk to him about this time. ‘Why don’t the bastards come and get it over with?’ He thought desperately. The torture he could stand, after a little while he could just numb the pain out somewhat, the waiting was murder. Knowing that he would soon be beaten, left underwater until he almost blacked out, or tortured in some other way was worse than the actual torture for John. 

Suddenly, the doors to his underground cell burst open, and John found himself looking at the main leader. Groaning internally, he prepared for them to grab him by his hair and haul him to the chamber where their favorite torture instruments lay. Instead of the usual rough treatment, he was prodded until he sat up of his own accord. Once sitting, he noticed something different about the scenario. A man lay on a stretcher, badly wounded and groaning slightly. 

Hearing a conversation in Arabic, John turned to see Stewart conversing with the leader. After a brief exchange, Stewart turned to John and spoke, “They wish you to operate on this man, remove the bullet and patch him up. You’d better do it, Watson, he’ll die otherwise.” 

“Yeah? Well good, cause I refuse to help one of those nasty bastards and they can all go to hell.” John spat back. “Watson, I know you don’t like them. I don’t either, but this man has a wife and children. They’ll starve without him to support them.” Stewart replied. At this, John was taken aback. His conscience was at war within himself. Torn between doing his duty to his country and the thought of his own family, clueless as to where he was, John debated what he should do. 

Then a thought hit him, what if he were able to save the man’s life, but put him out of action? Immediately John thought of the injured men that had been forced to become suicide bombers when they couldn’t continue fighting. He examined his choices; he could give in, save the man’s life so he could go and kill or injure more of John’s comrades; he could refuse to help, and let the wife and children, who may not even exist, suffer for it; or he could patch him up, well enough so he lives, but not well enough to fight, and send the man to a certain death as a suicide bomber.

While this was going through his head, John examined the man from a distance with a doctor’s eye. Going through what he remembered from medical school, John realized that the man had spinal injuries, from the way he couldn’t move and didn’t feel much pain. Knowing that this meant he wouldn’t ever be able to walk again, John knew what he had to do. He looked at the leader and shook his head, refusing to help.

Two hours later, John thought through the pain, not regretting his decision for a second.

♪♫♪ May 24th ~ John’s POV ♪♫♪  
The day started just like all the others. A meager breakfast given to him, a little chance to nurse his wounds, and then maybe another chance to become their doctor. Many more cases like the one two weeks ago had come up; John had refused to help with all of them. He hated himself for refusing to help, but he couldn’t be sure if they actually had wives and children to go home to. 

Although the day started normally, it didn’t stay that way. John had been napping, trying to recuperate when he was suddenly being pulled into a standing position and dragged through the tunnels. He had never been this way and was wondering what they had in store for him. Ahead he could see light, not the usual candles or flashlights used to light the caves, honest to god light. ‘Sunlight’ John thought to himself. It had been over a month since the light of day had met John’s eyes and he drank in the sight eagerly. 

When they got near the tunnel’s entrance, a holey sack was put over his head. John was curious as to why, but the answer came when they stepped out into the light. It hurt; the bright light making him blind for a few moments when the sack was suddenly ripped off. Hissing at the light, John clamped them shut until he was more used to the brightness of day. Once he was used to the light, John looked around and his sight was accosted by a group of women and children, who all looked frightened, surrounded by men with guns. 

“You see Dr. Watson.” Stewart started, “These are the women and children whose husbands, fathers, and brothers, you have refused to help. Their pain is on your head. Are you sure you can live with it?”

John was shocked and horrified, this was worse than any torture they could devise for him. He shut his eyes because he couldn’t bear to look at the misery before him. “Will you help now?” Stewart demanded of him. John didn’t open his mouth because he was afraid he might throw up if he did, he merely shook his head. It hurt him a great deal, but he clung to the hope that maybe these women and children were kidnapped, and didn’t really have loved ones that he had refused to heal. At his refusal, he was stalked back inside and thrown back in his cell. He felt tears on his face from the pitiful sight and they continued to stream until he fell asleep, only to be haunted by their faces in his dreams.

♪♫♪ May 25th ~Sherlock’s POV ♪♫♪  
After a night of going through files and preparing for the tasks of the day, Sherlock was finally ready to put his plan into action. He had made many realizations that night, and was determined that John would be back with him that day. He grabbed his phone and dialed Mycroft. Once he heard Athena’s (no, it was Anthea now, she had changed it again), he immediately demanded to be put through to Mycroft. When he heard his brother’s voice, he launched into explaining his plan. After hearing the explanation of what was happening, Mycroft’s only response was, “My best men are on their way even as we speak. Bring your friend home, Sherlock, and don’t forget that I helped you.” Sherlock grumbled back, “How can I forget when you will be reminding me of it every time you need something?” Not responding to his whinging, Mycroft merely said, “I wish you luck, brother” and hung up. 

Now that he had assurance of his plan going smoothly, Sherlock grabbed John’s gun from its hiding place (John had left it at home before leaving for war), and went to seek out Colonel Moriarty for the second phase of his plan. 

“Colonel Moriarty, a word if you please.” Sherlock stated, sweeping into his office, interrupting the meeting going on between him and a native. “Not now, if you please Mr. Holmes. Wait outside.” Moriarty responded impatiently.

“Let me rephrase that.” Sherlock said drawing his gun, “You are no longer in command of this base, now tell me how to get John out of that rat trap you left him in or I will blow your brains out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I would love to put an evil note about leaving you hanging I will restrain myself. So how are you liking it? Next chapter will be posted soon.. Writing it is becoming easier so maybe I will have it posted in less than a week? (Not that it's a promise.. I'll try :)


	5. Hanging on a Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the next chapter. A bit earlier then I expected but that's good right? Sorry it's so short.. I was a bit busier and decided to split this chapter in half (it's getting kinda long) but the next half will be posted as soon as I finish it! Enjoy!

Chapter 5  
Moriarty stared at Sherlock dumbfounded before shouting, “You bloody lunatic get out of here with that gun.”

Sherlock remained staring at him stoically and replied, “I have proof that you have been working with the terrorists and that you have willfully with held information about Captain John Watson. I have enough to get you arrested for the rest of your life. Now you will help me get John back or so help me I will put this bullet through your brain.”

At this, Moriarty grinned evilly and said, “Well you seem to know quite a bit. It might be good for you to take a breather Mr. Holmes. How about I arrange it for you?” As he spoke, he signaled to the other man in the room, who until this point, Sherlock had ignored. The man came up behind Sherlock and attempted to tackle him to the ground. Sherlock evaded and then twisted the man over his hip, using the self defense techniques he had perfected as a consulting detective. 

Moriarty used Sherlock’s distraction with the native to escape the office. The native was up and fighting back before Sherlock could follow Moriarty. Sherlock lost his gun and had to resort to wasting precious time fight the man. After being thrown on the desk, Sherlock’s hand fell on his gun and he grabbed it. Straightening, he shot the man through the chest and, as the man slumped over, sprinted after Moriarty. 

Once he reached the main courtyard of the base, Sherlock spotted Moriarty at the gate in one of the bases jeeps. Knowing that John would be doomed if Moriarty got to the terrorist base, Sherlock immediately stole… er, borrowed a jeep and drove after him. They drove through the desert up to the base of the path through the mountain that hid the terrorist base. Bounding out of his vehicle, Moriarty started to sprint up the path. Sherlock followed but it was soon certain that Moriarty knew the path better and was starting to out distance Sherlock. 

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He was raring to follow Moriarty, but he knew that he didn’t have a chance against the entire base, and he if he wanted to get John back he would need to wait for Mycroft’s men. Seething at the thought of leaving John any longer there, he returned to the jeep and drove back to base. 

Only 30 minutes passed until Mycroft’s special ops forces were there, but it was still too long. John could already be dead and they were just starting out.  
♪♫♪ May 25th ~ John’s POV♪♫♪  
“Wake up, Watson.” 

These were always the first words John heard in the morning. Stewart was waking him to eat the breakfast the terrorists made for them. Groaning, John sat up and limped to the table, where a bowl sat. Every morning was the same; a bowl of bland porridge which was always difficult for him to choke down. 

They had developed a system for him; Stewart would wake him up when they brought their breakfast, he would then sit, lost in his thoughts until someone either came to take him to the torture chamber, or until they brought his next meal. He wasn’t tortured every day, but he was always given a chance to become their doctor. He was especially tired that morning because of the nightmares from the night before. 

Just like every morning, after he forced down some food he checked his injuries to make sure there were no infections, not that he would have been able to do much about an infection if he found one. Before long, his thoughts turned to Sherlock. ‘How is he holding up? He’ll probably force Mycroft to continue the search for me.’ John thought, without a clue about how right he was and how desperate Sherlock was to find him. What hurt the most was the fact that if he hadn’t been captured, he would already be home with Sherlock again; solving crimes, chasing criminals through the streets at ungodly hours, and thoroughly enjoying life. 

Had John known that Sherlock was at that moment, confronting Moriarty, putting his plan in action trying to get John back, he might have been more positive. As it was, he didn’t know and was miserable thinking of Sherlock having to face John’s disappearance, especially after promising that he would be all right and come home. John lost track of time, until what must have been a few hours later, the doors burst open and a few men swarmed in. This time though, instead of the regular leader, a man walked in who John recognized. 

Aghast, he stared at his former commanding officer, Colonel Moriarty. “Were you captured too?” John blurt out, his shock visible on his face. “No, my dear Watson.” Moriarty sneered, “Although your concern is quite touching. In fact, it’s so touching I might make your end peaceful.” At this, John just stared blankly at him, wondering what the hell was going on. “Ah, you look lost. Well I wish I had time to explain but you see your boyfriend is getting rather too close for my comfort and you are not high on my priority list right now.”

John was confused now, then it dawned on him, the terrorists had once or twice briefly mentioned someone in the army who was feeding them information, Moriarty must be that man. “Don’t strain yourself from thinking, Watson. Know that you have one hour. Pray to whatever God you believe in, but know that it will do you no good.” With this, Moriarty swept out of the room and when the doors shut after the last man, they clanged with a doom John had never heard in them before.

He sat on the cot, dumbstruck. His mind was just processing that he had an hour to live. Once he’d wrapped his mind about it, his thoughts turned to Sherlock. The next hour quickly passed with him trying to remember all the little facts about Sherlock and their life together that he’d come to love so much; Sherlock running experiments at any time of day making their flat smell, working with John on defensive techniques to be used on criminals, the thrill of chases together and countless other things. 

All too soon, the doors banged open again and the guards came to escort him outside again. Once they reached mouth of the cave, John was forced onto his knees. A shadow covered him and he looked up at Moriarty. “Last chance, Watson. Join our organization or die.” He threatened.

“Go to hell, Moriarty.” Was all John replied. Moriarty motioned to one of the men standing behind John, who placed the end of his gun next to John’s head. 

‘Forgive me Sherlock, I love you.’ John thought as he closed his eyes and prepared for the bullet to enter his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't going to end this chapter with a cliff hanger but it kinda happened that this was a good point to break. (See? I'm forcing myself to not laugh at leaving you hanging even though I just want to chuckle evilly... ehehehehe... come on.. you gotta let me have one good evil moment.. no? oh fine). I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible.. I promise :)


	6. A Calm After the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lateness of this chapter. Hopefully it will be good enough to make up for the delay? Carry on :)

‘This is risky, too risky. But it’s John. This could get John killed. They’re taking too long.’ Sherlock’s mind was a battlefield. Could he risk infiltrating the camp before the agents sent by Mycroft got into position? They were taking too long. Weighing all the risks, Sherlock made up his mind. He was already dressed the part, all that was left to do was to sneak into the camp (which was quite possible for him as he already had identified weak points in their defensive system). 

Taking a deep breath, he started down the treacherous slope which would lead him, unnoticed, into the midst of the camp. This was the point of no return. He would have to get to John before he was discovered or they would both be shot before a rescue could take place. 

But Sherlock was by no means alone in this operation; even as he made his way to the camp, Mycroft’s men were positioning themselves, waiting for the signal from Sherlock to attack the camp. 

Once Sherlock reached the outskirts of the camp, he slunk up behind a guard and quickly and silently strangled him. He felt no qualms about killing one of the men responsible for John’s imprisonment and torture; in fact, he reveled in the knowledge that he was hurting those who had hurt John. ‘Bit not good there, Sherlock.’ Sherlock could hear John’s voice, which had for so long been his conscience, reprimanding him in his brain. 

Sherlock picked up the fallen guards gun and made his way through the compound. A distinctly English voice accosted him. As he turned, he saw that it was Moriarty. Beckoning for Sherlock and another soldier to join him at the mouth of the cave, he instructed them to go in a fetch the prisoner from cell 3. Sherlock and the other guard made their way through the tunnels in the cave (Sherlock following almost imperceptibly behind the other man to take in his surroundings) and finally arrived at a heavy iron door. 

The doors opened with a loud clang and the men entered. The first thing Sherlock noticed was John, sitting on the cot with a sad and resigned look in his eyes. It took all of Sherlock’s will power to not rush to him, gather him up in his arms and not let the world near him again. Instead, Sherlock had to help the other guard roughly grab him and haul him back out into the open. When they reached outside, Moriarty was waiting for them and motioned for them to stop. Forcing John to his knees was painful for Sherlock, but the act must be kept up.

Moriarty walked right up next to John, Sherlock missed what he said in his attempt to keep from strangling Moriarty for daring to come that close to John. However, he did hear John’s reply for Moriarty to “go to hell” and he wanted to kiss John for being strong even now. At this, Moriarty stepped back and motioned for Sherlock to shoot him. Hoping that everyone was in position, he stepped up beside John and placed his gun barrel up next to John’s head. He counted to five and pulled the trigger. 

♪♫♪ 

John’s eyes flew open. The gun had gone off, but he was still alive. Or was he dead? He hadn’t ever been dead before so he could have been. He looked up and noticed Moriarty flat on his back, a bullet gushing blood from between his eyes. Looking up at his would be assassin, he saw his gun aimed where Moriarty had stood just a few seconds before. What seemed like an eternity later, but was in fact a few seconds, the guard yelled in a voice suspiciously like Sherlock’s, “VATICAN CAMEOS!!” Instinctively, John dropped to the ground as the camp erupted in bullets. Bodies dropped everywhere as gunshots were heard from various positions outside the camp. 

A strong arm grabbed John around the waist and hauled him up. “Come on John, walk for me! Get inside the cave, quickly!” A voice commanded and John obeyed. Once they reached the mouth of the cave, where they would be safe from the bullets flying outside, the arm gently lowered him to the ground. “Sherlock?” John’s voice was tentative and he choked over the word. “It’s me, John. I’m here. I couldn’t let my blogger die, now could I?” his voice replied softly.

Removing the turban and half veil which hid his face, Sherlock’s face completely broke John. Grabbing him, John hid his face in Sherlock’s shoulder and sobbed. He was saying something, but Sherlock could only make out a few words, “Sh’lock… thought I’d never see you… missed you…hold me… let it be real…” His usually stoic and emotionless demeanor started to tear up as Sherlock held John closer and gently stroked his hair. Eventually, John calmed down and leaned back to look at Sherlock. John’s face was streaked with dirt and tears which did nothing to hide the bruises and cuts inflicted by the terrorists. 

Sherlock was filled with rage at what they did but could only hold onto John, who was holding Sherlock like he was a lifeline. “What…?” John started to say, but Sherlock hushed him. “Later John, we need to get you back to base and get your wounds looked at first.”

With this, Sherlock rose off the ground and held out a hand to help John up. Grasping his hand, John slowly and painfully rose to his feet and let Sherlock help him outside. The bullets had ceased to fly some minutes ago and the campsite was now filled with dead and injured bodies and Mycroft’s agents. A stretcher was waiting for John, who refused it choosing to stay with Sherlock instead. They painstakingly made their way out of the camp and through the mountain path to where the jeeps lay waiting to take them back to the army base.

Along the way, John fell asleep propped up against Sherlock, gripping his hand tight enough for it to hurt, but Sherlock let him. Both needed the assurance that the other was there and neither was willing to let the other go. Once they arrived back at base, John was taken immediately to the hospital where he was taken away from Sherlock. It took them 2 MPs and a very determined nurse to keep Sherlock out of the ward while the doctors were examining John (“Incompetents! I demand that I be with John”) but they finally convinced him that it would go quicker if the doctors could work in peace.

When they finally let him back in (how long had it taken? It seemed like a decade but was in fact only a few hours) John was in a private room asleep on the hospital bed. They left Sherlock with him after giving him many admonishes on not to wake him and to get a doctor the moment he woke up. Positioning himself in a chair by John’s bed, Sherlock gripped John’s hand and waited. An hour later, a nurse walked in but quietly exited when she saw the spectacle before her. Sherlock was asleep with his head on the bed and John’s hand still gripped tightly in his. For now, they could rest. The world seemed to pause in that quiet room, giving the two lovers a chance to rest in the calm after the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? I finally let John get rescued. Would you like to see what happens once they get back to England or do you want me to end after the next chapter? As always I hope you enjoyed it ;) (also, next chapter will hopefully be up next weekend)


	7. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a quick interlude chapter before I take them back to England (I needed a chapter for John starting recovery and this is what my brain obliged me with). Enjoy!

When John came out of the fog that was unconsciousness, he tried to bolt upright. The pain was too much for him to stay sitting up so he leaned back into the bed while trying to make sense of all he remembered. He looked down and saw Sherlock fast asleep; one of his arms was curled up under his head as a sort of pillow, the other loosely gripped John’s hand. 

As the rescue slowly came back to John, he gave Sherlock a once over to check for injuries and other signs of what Sherlock had been through. Despite being so severely injured himself, John disregarded the pain in trying to use his detective’s methods to deduce what Sherlock had gone through. John worried that Sherlock had turned to drugs or some other type of destruction in his desperation at losing John. 

While these thoughts went through his head, John reached a hand to stroke Sherlock’s hair, more to reassure himself that this was real than anything else. At the light touch, Sherlock stirred and looked up; blinking and resembling an owl that has been thrown from a nap into bright sunlight. Smiling at him, John gripped Sherlock’s hand tighter. Sherlock shook his head once as if to clear it, then asked John, “How are you feeling? Should I call one of the doctors or nurses?” (True, they were incompetent, but if they could help John, Sherlock could deal with their idiocy) 

John shook his head and instead croaked out a request for a glass of water. Sherlock obliged him and helped him hold it as he greedily drank. Pulling the glass back, Sherlock admonished him, “For shame John. You of all people should know that too much at one time will hurt you and delay your recovery. And I personally would like to leave this rat trap as soon as possible. Absolutely nothing is interesting here.”

John smiled at him, well aware that Sherlock would stay there for years if it took that long for John to get well enough to move.

At this point, the nurse walked back in to check on them (just as had been done like clockwork for the past 12 hours when both men had been asleep). “Glad to see you awake Doctor Watson. How are you faring?” She inquired amiably. John replied with the usual reply of “all right” which nobody believed but they all accepted. After checking all the main injuries and fussing (during which John constantly reminded her that he was a doctor and could tell her if there was a problem, which she brushed off and continued her job) she informed them that she needed to have the doctor check on John just for routine. 

She left to get the doctor and a few minutes later they both came into the room. After a quick examination, the doctor pronounced John to be recovering splendidly (like he didn’t already know it) and said he would be ready to return home in about a week. After the examination, the doctor turned to leave but came back and spoke to John; “Watson, the new commander asked me to tell you that he is ready to debrief you when you are ready.”

Sherlock protested that John could wait and do it when he was farther on the road to recovery, but John hushed him. “It would help me if I knew that was over with, Sherlock. I would like to do it as soon as possible.” Then he turned to the army doctor and responded, “Tell the commander I am ready.” 

As the doctor left John turned to Sherlock again and said, “What happened, Sherlock? How did you find me? What happened with Colonel Moriarty?” Sherlock studied him for a minute, debating on what to answer John with. Finally he responded, “We should probably wait for the new commander to get here so we don’t have to go through it twice. I don’t have a particular wish to explain myself twice.”

John smiled fondly at him and settled back into the (somewhat hard) hospital pillow to await the arrival of the new commander. When the door opened again, John laughed when he saw who had been selected for temporary commander. ‘Jolly’ Jameson (Major Arthur Jameson) had walked into the room with his customary grin on his face. It faltered when he saw how beat up John was but he attempted to make light of it with his usual jovial attitude. “So, the bastards banged you up pretty bad, eh Watson?” 

John nodded and replied, “And they cornered you into taking the command? Bloody hell, the entire compound must be on one continual April Fool’s Day.” Jameson replied with mock affront, “Of course not! I make them work for an hour or two.” Grinning at his new commander’s joking, John settled himself more comfortably for the talk that was about to follow. 

“Listen old fellow, I know it will probably be a pain to go through all that has happened to you in the past month but we need to know.” Jameson started, “I’ve got a recorder so you don’t have to go through it twice if I forget to write something down. Do you want me in here while you recount it?” John sighed and replied, “They would probably like a higher officer here, and I’d rather it be you than one of the other fellows so you can stick around.”

John took the recorder and switched it on. He recounted all the major details he could remember of his time in the Taliban’s camp. He spoke of the torture, the times they tried to coerce him into helping them, the women and children who they had shown to him. When he spoke of the women and children, the vivid nightmares of sobbing and scared faces came back to him and full force and he couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down his face. Sherlock reached up and brushed them off before taking his hand and gripping it, which John was thankful for. 

Once he had finished, Jameson switched it off and inquired of Sherlock, “Do you want to record yours or talk to the sergeant and have him fill it out for you?” Sherlock replied with the request to finish it with John present, so Jameson handed him the recorder and flipped it on again. Sherlock’s tale was less mentally scarring and much shorter. He recounted his observations of the camp, the files that had led him to find out about Moriarty’s scheme and finally about the scheme itself. He explained Moriarty’s plan to use the army’s funds to smuggle information to the Taliban, supply them subtly with new tech and weapons, and in return, they paid him various sums of money which would make his retirement more ‘desirable’. 

Once finished, Jameson took the recorder and prepared to leave the men alone. He paused at the door and turned back to say rather sadly to John, “I’m truly sorry we left you in the hell hole, John. For what it’s worth, if we had known you were still alive we would have stormed that gate ourselves to get you back. I doubt there is a man in this compound that would not be willing to lay down their life for you. I especially wish I could go back and change it. I would have died rather than be the reason you got captured.”

John smiled wanly, and replied, “Thank you for that, Arthur. It wasn’t your fault. I knew the dangers when I signed on for that mission and you are in no way responsible for my capture. Glad to see your leg is better.” Jameson smiled weakly before leaving, making sure to shut the door on his way out to give them some privacy. 

“You need some rest now, John. You should try to sleep some more.” Sherlock piped up as soon as the door was fully shut. “I know, Sherlock. I just need some time for my brain to calm down.” As he was talking John let his head fall back and closed his eyes to try and clear his head. Sherlock sat content to watch John and be reassured that he was there. After a little while, John’s grip on Sherlock’s hand relaxed and his breathing slowed. Sherlock watched him as he slept, re-cataloguing every little detail, from the way he breathed to the way his muscles twitched occasionally. John would sleep a lot in the next few days, but Sherlock would rarely leave his side, preferring to stay and watch his partner rest in a blissful sleep that was a respite from the pain and memories of the last month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this chapter to give me some time to formulate (that is such a fun word.. formulate.. *ahem* anyway) a plan for what would happen once they reached England so sorry if it wasn't up to my usual standards. Hope you enjoyed it!


	8. Home Again

It ended up taking a week before the doctors would even allow John to leave the bed. After a week, he had gotten restless enough to bully… erm, convince the doctors to allow him to roll around the base in a wheelchair. Sherlock had left him as little as possible in the week (only when forced to by the combined efforts of John, his nurse, and his doctors to get some sleep or food). More than once, John had woken up shaking and sweating from the nightmares that gripped his dreams to see Sherlock by the bed trying to ease John’s sleep.

John was immensely grateful for Sherlock’s presence and had taken to gripping his hand or shoulder to remind himself that he was really there. 

Over the next week, John continued to improve rapidly. He’d always been a quick healer and that trait was never more useful than now. Once the doctor had cleared him for flight, he and Sherlock lost no time in packing his belongings and booking a flight. 

The morning of their departure, John woke up from yet another nightmare. This time he had been back in the cave, but instead of being tortured he was being confronted yet again with the faces of the women and children whose husbands and fathers he had refused to help. For his kind and doctorish heart, this was a worse torture. 

When Sherlock joined him, he immediately deduced that he had had another nightmare but refrained from pointing it out. He loved John too much to cause him more pain so he ignored what he would normally have called out in most people. 

♪♫♪

On the return flight, Sherlock entertained John for the first hour by making deductions about the other people in the seats around them. After a while, John started to nod off (he was mostly healed but he still was sleeping more than usual). Sherlock sat and watched him until a smile (the kind only John could coax from him) took over his face. Everyone who knew him would not believe that he could make that expression, and true, it was rare for him to smile like that but that made it all the more precious when he did. 

The passengers around them who happened to glanced over smiled at the sweet picture they formed, for John was leaning against Sherlock tucked protectively under his arm and Sherlock had rested his head on top of John’s. They stayed leaned together that way for most of the rest of the flight, until John woke up about half an hour before they were scheduled to land. 

When they had arrived, they got off the plane and went to fetch their bags. They hailed a taxi (Mycroft had wanted to send a car but Sherlock refused, wanting things to get back to normal for John’s sake as quickly as possible) and directed to their flat. 

When they arrived, Mrs. Hudson had tea ready for them in their flat (with their favorite kinds of biscuits too) and the reminder that it was only this once and she still wasn’t their housekeeper. She fussed over John, making sure he was comfortable and lacked for nothing. 

Once she was content that he had everything he could want, she went back downstairs to “let them have a moment alone”. John and Sherlock smiled at her motherliness. Sherlock brought John a cup of tea so he wouldn’t have to move. John teased him, “Maybe I should allow myself to get captured more often, I’ve never seen you so willing to make someone tea.”

Sherlock smiled at him and replied, “I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Relieved that they could banter again, John sipped his tea and turned on the telly to see an episode of Doctor Who playing. For the next few hours, Sherlock entertained John again with his deductions about the actors and characters. 

They both had reached the unspoken agreement to get their life back to normal (well as normal as it could be when you live with a self-proclaimed but entirely justified genius) and were doing everything possible to do that. If they held onto each other tighter that night than usual, neither mentioned it but both reveled in the assurance that they were safe at home once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter is so short (and late!).. this week was a bit stressful. Next chapter will be up soon! (Any requests as to whether I should go with the canon stories or create my own cases?)


	9. A Case

The next day was spent resettling themselves in their shared home. Sherlock started an experiment on the cheese that had rotted in his absence; John made tea and read the paper; and Mrs. Hudson popped in to see if they needed anything. All was back to normal. 

That morning, John took time to make a trip to the Tesco’s near their flat. He started out the door but was soon caught by Sherlock, who insisted on going with him. 

“I am capable of going alone, Sherlock. My shoulder and injuries are healed enough for me to carry a few shopping bags.” John commented mildly. “I need a few things for my experiment anyway.” Sherlock replied. 

At Tesco’s, John picked up some necessities (milk, tea, and food) while Sherlock went for the items he needed for his experiment (carbon dioxide, shaving cream, and rubbing alcohol). “Do I want to know what those are going to be used for, Sherlock?”

“Almost certainly not.” 

John felt the urge to groan, but did not inquire further into Sherlock’s experiment. (John had quickly learned not to do that after being scarred for life that first time… Honestly, who runs experiments on the acidic properties of a cow’s stomach? And where on earth does one find a cow’s stomach?) They paid for their purchases (John let Sherlock handle the chip-and-pin machine… he didn’t want to have a row with it on his first day back after all) and walked home with their usual banter. 

As soon as they got home, Sherlock set to starting his experiment (John wasn’t even going to look to see what kind of experiment it was… he valued his sanity too much) and John put away the groceries. That afternoon, John had his first meeting with his therapist. He was sullen about going but it was a requirement for the army so he had to go. They discussed many things, and she encouraged him in his blogging (even if it was about Sherlock and the cases), telling him that it was “an outlet that was perfect for any post-traumatic stress that he might have.” As if John needed her encouragement to write up Sherlock’s cases and praise him.

That night, John woke up sweating from the nightmares that he was slowly growing accustomed to. He sat up to find that Sherlock’s side empty. Stretching his cramped muscles, John walked into the living room to find Sherlock sitting on the couch. He was staring straight ahead and was absent-mindedly plucking his violin, obviously lost in thought. Taking care to make as little noise as possible, John went to the kitchen and made two cups of tea. 

Returning to the living room, he set one down before Sherlock and was taking his own back to bed when Sherlock spoke up, “Stay if you like. You won’t be falling back asleep easily anyway and you might have a better chance out here.” John considered this, realized Sherlock was right, and went to sit down next to him on the couch. Sherlock set his violin down and rearranged himself so that he was stretched out on the couch, his head on John’s lap and his hands pressed together under his chin. John automatically started to run a hand through his hair and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV. 

He turned to a Doctor Who marathon that was running all night and settled in to sip his tea and watch the Doctor (they were showing Tennant’s version tonight) battle Daleks, Cybermen, and other monsters. He ended up falling asleep on the couch and woke up the next morning curled up. Sherlock was sitting in the armchair typing away rapidly at John’s computer. John sat up and pushed back the blanket Sherlock had draped over him. “Fancy some breakfast?” John asked hopefully, sure that Sherlock was back to his regular pattern of only eating when absolutely necessary. “Just tea for me, thanks.” Sherlock replied without looking up. John sighed and went to put the kettle on and make some toast for himself. 

When the tea and toast was ready he brought it into the living room and put Sherlock’s tea down next to him (he also put a plate of toast but did not delude himself into believing that Sherlock would eat it). Surprisingly, Sherlock did eat the toast but did so absently (John wasn’t even sure if he knew he was eating it… for a genius Sherlock was very unobservant about his own body).

Later that day, John decided to go for a walk. His phone buzzed as he strolled through London and he pulled it out to read it. 'At St. Barts. Need your help. Come at once if convenient ~ SH' 

John turned his footsteps toward St. Barts and picked up his pace when the second text came in, 'If inconvenient come anyway ~ SH'

Yes, things were definitely back to normal. 

When he arrived, John went straight to the lab, knowing form experience that that was where he was most likely to find Sherlock. Sure enough, John found him there looking through the microscope at a specimen. “Can I borrow your phone?” Sherlock asked as soon as he saw John in his peripheral vision. “Did you call me down here to borrow my bloody phone, Sherlock? What’s wrong with yours?” John asked as he handed it over anyways. “Can’t use mine for this, besides you weren’t doing anything really.” Sherlock replied.

“That’s not the point, Sherlock. Your phone is perfectly functional and I-” Here Sherlock interrupted him “My phone would not work for this. Are you angry with me, John?” 

Sherlock was looking at him now with the precise expression that John hated so much because it made him look vulnerable. John sighed and caved to the inevitable feeling that he could deny Sherlock nothing, “No, but next time please let me know that you only need my phone.” Nodding in assent, Sherlock bounced up (the vulnerable expression long gone) and strode over to Molly, who had just entered with a cup of tea.

Taking the cup of tea, he turned back around and walked back to his seat. He sipped the tea and grimaced slightly so that Molly couldn’t see (no one made tea like John). He set the tea down to go back to studying the specimen under the microscope. John grabbed his phone back to check the messages; he had far too much experience with Sherlock texting serial killers on his phone, but the two messages sent only said “Wrong” and nothing else. 

John was curious but didn’t ask because he knew that if Sherlock wanted him to know what it was about he would have asked John to send it for him. Molly turned to John and spoke after Sherlock took the tea from her, “Glad to see you back, John. Hope you’re feeling better.” ‘Sherlock probably told her’ thought John as he replied, “Yes, thanks Molly. Glad to be home.” Thankfully, she didn’t bring up the subject of his capture, she was too kind to ask him about it and he was glad of it. They continued to make small talk as Sherlock worked on his experiment.

Presently, Sherlock stood and spoke to John, “I’m finished now John, we can go home now.” John turned to him and admonished him, “Not until you clean up the mess, Sherlock. You can’t expect Molly to do it for you.”

Molly cut in quickly, “I don’t mind, John. Both of you go home, I’m sure you would like some rest.” John usually didn’t like to be molly-coddled, but it was her way of showing affection so he didn’t mention it; instead he said, “Nonsense, Molly. Sherlock made this mess and he should help clean it up.” Molly waved him off, “Oh go on both of you, out of my lab. Shoo.” As she spoke she gently tried to herd them out the door.

John acquiesced and started to walk out the door after Sherlock when Molly spoke to him again, “John. I know that you are capable of taking care of both yourself and Sherlock but if you ever need anything, I’m available.” John smiled at her and said thanks. Knowing that she was sincere and would be willing to help if he ever needed her was something to be thankful for and he was. He followed Sherlock out of the building wondering when he had become such good friends with Molly (undoubtedly it was when Sherlock spent hours on end in the lab while Molly and John commiserated over trying to get him to eat or sleep). 

♪♫♪

By the time they reached home, John was tired and his shoulder was killing him. He took his medication and automatically made two cups of tea. When he entered the living room, Sherlock was typing away at his computer (probably updating something on his website), John settled into the armchair with a book he’d been meaning to read. His mind quickly started to wander, he thought about trying to get a job at a clinic or other possibilities. He wasn’t sure what he would do as he’d never worked in medicine outside the army. 

Unbeknownst to John, Sherlock had stopped typing and was just staring at John. He still found it hard to believe that John was safe at times. Sherlock took in the worry lines on John’s face deepening and it upset him. He didn’t understand what could be worrying John; they were both safe at home, Sherlock hadn’t left any experiments out, and he’d been eating and sleeping regularly so John wouldn’t worry about him lately. 

When John finally noticed him watching, he merely smiled, the worry lines smoothing out as he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was about to ask him what the matter was, when he heard the door shut downstairs and footsteps start to ascend the stairs to 221B. There was a brief knock at the door which Sherlock quickly answered to save John the trouble of getting up. 

Lestrade was at the door looking apologetic. He entered and spoke to John first, “How are you, John? Welcome home.” John replied with the answer that was growing old having to say it over and over, “I’m fine thanks, Lestrade. Glad to be home.” Sherlock interrupted them here, “What’s wrong, Lestrade? Another body?”

“I wouldn’t be bothering you, seeing as how John’s just back and all but we’re getting worried and I need your help. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to though, I’ll understand.” “Nonsense, of course he’ll go. No need to worry about me.” John took his turn at interrupting, knowing that Sherlock was positively aching to go but wouldn’t if John asked him to stay. Sherlock turned to him, “Are you sure, John? You could come with me if you wanted. You are an army doctor after all; death is nothing new for you.”

John glanced at Lestrade to see if he was going to protest John’s presence, but Lestrade only gave a small smile and nod. Turning back to Sherlock, John spoke, “As long as I won’t be a nuisance.” Sherlock immediately protested that John was not a nuisance but John hushed him and got their coats. They were quickly following Lestrade in a taxi to the crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried to make this chapter a bit longer to make up for last week. I do hope you enjoyed it! (sorry for the rather abrupt cut-off.. it was getting rather long and I didn't want to cut it right in the middle of the crime scene so that was the best spot.) As always, comments and criticisms are welcome!


	10. Settling In

The crime scene was in an abandoned flat that had been corded off by police tape. There was a car parked at the edge of the tape with a woman in a tight black pencil skirt and business jacket standing next to it. She was the first thing John noticed when he stepped out of the taxi. 

“Who’s she, Sherlock?” John enquired when Sherlock had stepped out of the car. “Irrelevant.” Sherlock replied and strode to the crime scene leaving John to pay the cabbie. Sherlock had been stopped at the edge of the tape and when John approached the woman was saying to into a walkie-talkie, “Freak’s here. Want me to send him in?”

John bristled at the insult to his boyfriend but Sherlock merely looked disdainfully at her. Raising the tape, Sherlock entered the crime scene and John was about to follow when the woman raised a hand to stop him. “Who’s he?” She asked glancing at Sherlock. “He’s with me.” Sherlock said and motioned for John to walk under the tape he was still holding up. 

“Who was that, Sherlock? I don’t remember her from before.” John asked glancing back at the woman who listened to something on her walkie-talkie before following them. “That’s Sally Donovan. She’s Lestrade’s new sergeant.”

John noticed some old faces from before his deployment but there were new faces as well. One of the new ones came up to them and spoke to Sherlock, “Listen freak, this is a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated.” Sherlock merely sneered at him in reply, “And will your wife be away for long, Anderson?” 

“Someone told you that. Don’t pretend you deduced that.”

“Your deodorant told me that.” Sherlock replied disdainfully. “It’s for men.”

“Of course it’s for men.” The man named Anderson replied, “I’m wearing it.” Sherlock glanced forward to the entrance of the flat where Donovan was talking to someone and said, “So’s Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock looked satisfied at the look on their faces and started forward but paused again and said, “And I’m assuming she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.” 

With that parting shaft, Sherlock swept into the flat and started to climb the stairs. John followed barely keeping in his laughter at the dumbstruck looks on Anderson and Donovan’s faces. Lestrade met them in the hall and led them to the table where the covers for their clothes were (as John remembered, Sherlock never wore them but John donned a suit). Lestrade led them to the room where the body was and shooed everyone else out of the room so Sherlock wouldn’t fuss. 

While Sherlock examined the body, John and Lestrade stood without talking (they had long since learned that Sherlock preferred silence and would make snide remarks to anyone who interrupted his thought process with unnecessary chatter). Finally, Sherlock rose from the body and Lestrade inquired, “Find anything?” 

Sherlock spoke then, telling all the deductions he had made about the body. Lestrade listened but suddenly interjected when Sherlock spoke about a case, inquiring what case he was talking about. Impatiently, Sherlock explained about it but Lestrade replied, “There was not case, Sherlock.” Sherlock considered this for a moment before rushing out the door ranting about the first mistake made by the killer. John followed but had to stop to take off the cover he was wearing.

By the time he reached the edge of the crime scene, Sherlock was gone. Donovan was back at her post, leaning against the police car parked at the edge of the crime scene tape. “Looking for the freak?” she asked. John ignored her comment about Sherlock (wouldn’t do to get in a fight with a police officer his first night back helping the consulting detective) and inquired if Sherlock had left yet. After replying in the affirmative, Donovan hesitated then spoke again, “Look, if you want my advice, stay away from him. He’s not normal. He gets off on this, and one day, we’ll be standing around a body and it’ll have been him who put it there.”

John turned to face her, letting his glare show on his face. At his glare, she shifted slightly and her stance when slightly defensive. Showing his ire in his voice, John replied, “Sergeant Donovan, I do not need or want your advice, and while you are entitled to your opinions, know that if you attempt anything against Sherlock, you may find that it is your body we will be standing around and it won’t have been my boyfriend who put it there.”

Donovan was taken aback but quickly recovered and moved into more of an aggressive stance before demanding, “Are you threatening me? I could arrest you for that.” 

John smiled and mildly said, “I was not threatening you Sergeant. I was merely stating a possibility of your future should you attempt any harm to my boyfriend. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to find a taxi.” As John walked off, he couldn’t help the smug grin that implanted itself on his face at Donovan’s shocked face. 

♪♫♪

After walking a few blocks without succeeding in hailing a taxi, John passed a telephone box and it rang. John considered for a second before answering it. Sure enough, the voice on the other end was Mycroft’s. Knowing that he would have to do this sooner or later, John agreed to talk to him and got in the car as soon as it pulled up. The girl was there (John had stopped trying to remember her name… preferring to just call her ‘the girl’) typing away at a blackberry as usual. The car was quiet throughout the journey to the (surprise!) empty warehouse that Mycroft had chosen this time. 

John entered the building with a confident gait (he knew that Mycroft wouldn’t hurt him… only try to get him to spy on Sherlock), ready to decline any offers Mycroft made for him to spy on Sherlock. “Well Doctor Watson, barely home from Afghanistan and already back traipsing after Sherlock in the field. Are you sure you are quite recovered from your… experience?”

Rolling his eyes, John replied, “I am a doctor, Mycroft. I know my limitations. Can we just get on with you asking for information on Sherlock so I can tell you to sod off?” Mycroft smiled at John (and that was his least favorite expression of Mycroft’s; condescending, telling him that he was being amusing and was missing the point entirely), “I am hurt, John. I am merely inquiring after your well-being and you are already accusing me of trying to spy on my brother.”

John sighed and said, “Mycroft, I’m not an idiot. Just say what you have to say and let me get back home.” Mycroft chuckled quietly and said, “You do me an injustice, John. I truly did not call you here to discuss Sherlock. I merely wished to offer my assistance should you need any further help.” An incredulous look passed over John’s face, he didn’t believe that Mycroft would offer out of his own good will (true, Mycroft had assisted them in the past and had not asked for anything in return but it was not his usual way). 

“I think we can manage, Mycroft. Thank you for your offer though.” John may trust Mycroft but he preferred to not be in his debt. “Very well, John. Anthea will take you home.” Glancing behind him where ‘Anthea’ was typing away at her blackberry, John inquired, “So her name is Anthea now?”

“Yes, John. She has kept that name for quite some time now. She will most likely change it soon though.” John shrugged in reply and headed back to the car. He watched London pass by through the window and considered what Mycroft could have meant by offering them help. Little did he know that he would soon find he needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I missed the update last week.. I've been really busy and stressed (exams :/) and did not get it finished until today... I'm basically using the plot from "A Study in Pink" but it will have a twist in the next chapter.. so stay tuned! (Next chapter will be up as soon as possible.. I promise!)


	11. A Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... really don't have a good excuse for never updating (except my computer broke and I lost the story and forgot about it over the summer? Then didn't remember it again? Sorry :/) But here's the next chapter.. I'm hoping to finish it up in a couple more chapters so... yeah.. don't know if anyone will still read this. Oh well.. enjoy as always :D

When John arrived back to 221B, Sherlock was reclined on the couch. He looked like he was in his mind palace so John didn't disturb him but instead went to sit down in his chair. Before he reached it however, Sherlock sat up and said, "John, may I borrow your phone?" John nodded and handed it over without question, used to Sherlock's unexplained requests. 

"Mycroft kidnapped me again." John said.

"Dull." Sherlock replied, "I knew he would. Anything new this time?" 

John shrugged in reply and then said, "He offered us help if we ever needed it."

Sherlock looked over at John questioningly. A few moments later he said, "Something is different about his offering this time. What is it John?"

"He seemed more sincere. Did something happen to him while I was.. gone?" John chose to skirt around the topic of his abduction, which Sherlock noticed but didn't comment on.

"No. He was dull and annoying as usual. Are you sure he wasn't just acting?"

John shrugged and picked up the book he had been reading, ready to drop the subject. Sherlock watched him for a few minutes longer before bouncing off the couch and grabbing a pink case from behind his chair. He set it on a stool in front of him and flipped it open, staring intently at its contents. "John!" He shot out suddenly, "Come here please. What is missing? Something is missing from here."

John sighed but got up to move to stand next to Sherlock. After examining the case for a few minutes he thought about what was usually packed in suitcases. Finally he shrugged and replied, "I don't see anything missing I don't think. What  _is_ missing?"

"Her phone, John! Her phone!" Sherlock bounced up as he spoke and began pacing the room. "Why would a woman who is having an affair, who is meticulous and careful not have her phone? It wasn't on her body and it's not in her case." He continued pacing thinking before stopping and turning suddenly to face John. "She's clever! Of course! She's clever!" He whipped out John's phone and typed rapidly before tossing it back to John. "Tell me when you get a reply." He commanded.

John deliberated before replying, "So, do I get to know why you just texted a random number 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street, please come.'?"

"She left her phone with him, John! She was clever! Get your coat, we're going to dinner!"

John sighed but got up and put his coat back on a followed Sherlock. They go to Angelo's, who greets them familiarly and welcomes John back effusively. They get their usual table by the window and John orders as Sherlock watches the window. When his food comes, John wordlessly starts feeding bites to Sherlock, knowing that as long as he's focused on the street across from them, he could get away with feeding Sherlock some food (he had developed a system long ago of waiting until Sherlock was distracted before getting as much food in him as possible before he snapped out of his reverie). They talked some but mostly waited until a cab pulled up and stopped outside 22 Northumberland Street. Sherlock waited a few moments before jumping up and running out the door sprinting after the cab. Automatically following him, John caught up to him when he followed and pressed his fingers to his temples, a gesture John recognized as him mapping out a way to catch up to the cab. 

They were off in another moment, with John trying to keep up with Sherlock's long legs as they dashed through alleyways and up and over roofs and then down the other side. When they caught up, Sherlock pulled out one of the ids he had lifted off of Lestrade and then listed off deductions that eliminated the passenger as a suspect. He finally wished him a happy stay before panting to John, "Well that was a waste. No use going back to the restaurant. We'll go home." They set off again running until they reached home.

 

♪♫♪

 

When they got home, Lestrade was there with his crew in tow performing a 'drugs bust'. John scoffed at him (knowing full well that Sherlock had not touched cocaine for years now) and rolled his eyes pointedly. Lestrade defended himself by saying, "We knew he'd find the case and this was the best excuse."

Then Sherlock snapped out, "I'm not your sniffer dog!"

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog."

Sherlock spun around spotting Anderson leaning out of a door frame waving at him and spat out, "What is Anderson doing here on a drugs bust?"

Lestrade calmly replied, "He volunteered. In fact everyone here isn't usually on the drugs bust team but they volunteered."

Then Donovan rounded the corner with a jar and asked flabbergasted, "Are these human eyes?"

Sherlock replied scathingly, "Put those back!"

"They were in the microwave!"

"They're an experiment!"

John watched the exchange getting more and more exasperated. He began to berate both Donovan and Lestrade when Sherlock threw his hands in the air and shouted, "Shut up! Shut up all of you! Anderson turn your back, you're putting me off!"

Anderson sputtered in reply, "What? My face is?"

Lestrade shouted at the room in general, "Shut up all of you! Anderson turn your back!"

Begrudgingly, Anderson turned around as Sherlock deliberated in his mind, working through the puzzle. Finally, he said, "Oh she's clever. She's cleverer than you lot, and she's dead!"

He looked around at the blank faces staring at him and said, "Dear god, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so relaxing!"

Again, he was surrounded by blank faces. He made an exasperated gesture and exclaimed, "The case! She left it with him! She left her phone in it! She planted it on him!"

"And how does this help us?" Anderson asked impatiently.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street." Sherlock shot back before exclaiming, "Rachel!"

Once again, blank stares. "You lot, you're so vacant. What is it like not being me? It must be so relaxing."

"Sherlock!" John shouted.

"Fine! Rachel! The password to her phone!"

Suddenly John's face became one of comprehension. Sherlock knew he had worked it out. John excitedly proclaimed, "The phone! It would have had GPS! If it's not in the case, and not on her then it must be with the killer!"

Sherlock nodded, proud of John's ability to understand him before anyone else. He walked quickly over to the desk and picked up John's computer and went to log into the phone account. He tracked it and was stupefied when it put it's location at 221B. "But that can't be right! It says it's here."

Lestrade immediately instructed his crew to start searching for it. Mrs. Hudson walked in and said, "Sherlock, dear, the cab you ordered is here."

Sherlock brushed her off telling her that he didn't order one. She left but was back quickly telling him that the cabbie said he was ordered there. Sherlock had been running the situation through his mind ('who hunts in a crowd... how is the phone here...') when it dawned on him. Quietly he picked up his coat and walked out to the cabbie just as he pulled out a pink phone. He and the cabbie walked down to the street when suddenly, the cabbie whipped out a syringe and dug it into his neck, emptying its contents into Sherlock's bloodstream making him go limp. Sherlock slumped into the cab and the cabbie quickly drove off. 

♪♫♪

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duh! Who will the cabbie be? Will he be from the show? Will he not? Stay tuned! (P.S. I know that the quotes aren't exactly like the script but I just kinda wrote them down as I thought they fit) Hope you enjoyed it and as ever let me know how you liked it! Next installment will be soon, I promise (this time for real... I'm going to finish this)


	12. Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok here is the next installment, as promised. The rest of the story is mapped out so it should be finished within the next few weeks. I hope you enjoy!

After Sherlock's abrupt departure, the police had quickly filed out of the apartment, leaving John to tidy up around Sherlock's experiments (of course after putting the eyes back in the microwave... and nope he wasn't about to ask about that particular experiment). As he worked he heard a noise from his computer and went to check it. The GPS tracker on the pink phone had moved! John considered for a second before grabbing the laptop and heading out the door to hail a cab.

He directed the cabbie in the direction the phone was headed and then sat back to watch it and make sure the signal didn't change positions.

♪♫♪

Sherlock came to in the back seat of the cab and sat up groggily. The cabbie (divorced, misses his children, not rich, why do this? _gain_ was the answer, but _how did he gain from it_ _?_ ) was just stopping outside two identical buildings. The cabbie got out of the car and walked to the side Sherlock was sitting on to open the door. 

"Come on, Mr. 'Olmes." He said, "We need to 'ave a nice chat."

Sherlock looked at him and replied, "Why should I? I could easily overpower you and escape."

"Because you're like me, Mr. 'Olmes. You want a challenge. A release from the boredom of dealing with ordinary people."

Sherlock was intrigued enough to step out of the cab and follow the man into one of the buildings. They walked upstairs and into an empty room with tables. The cabbie sat down at one of the tables and Sherlock followed suit, sitting on the opposite side. Sherlock considered him for a second before saying, "Well? Now that I'm here how do you get the victims to take the pills?"

The cabbie didn't reply, just pulled out two bottles with a single, seemingly identical, pill in each. He placed one in front of Sherlock and one in front of himself. 

"Ah, a choice. I assume one is poison and the other harmless?"

"Right you are, Mr. 'Olmes." The cabbie replied, "Did I just give you the poisoned one, or the 'armless one?" 

Sherlock glance down and then sneered, "And why should I take either? I could just walk out of here."

The cabbie pulled out a gun in response and said, "Because, you either choose or I can just shoot you. So, the pill? Or the gun?"

Smiling smugly, Sherlock replied, "Oh, I'll have the gun please."

"Are you sure, Mr. 'Olmes?"

"Oh yes... the gun."

The cabbie pulled the trigger, and a flame came out. 

"I know a fake gun when I see one." Sherlock sneered at him.

"None of the others did."

"They're all idiots."

Abruptly standing up, Sherlock began to walk out toward the door when the cabbie spoke again.

"Don't you want to take a guess? Prove how clever you are?"

Sherlock paused and turned to appraise him. He said, "It's a game of chance. 50/50 that one will be poisoned."

"Oh no, Mr. 'Olmes. It's not chance, it's chess. I know how people think. You choose and we'll each take a pill. This is what you do. Risk your life to prove you're clever."

After considering, Sherlock strode over to the table and snatched up a pill. He unscrewed the cap as the cabbie picked up the other pill. They both dumped the pill into their hands and started transporting it to their mouths. Suddenly, just as they were about to swallow the pill, a bang goes off and the sound of glass shattering and a grunt fills the room.

♪♫♪

As he stepped out of the cab in front of two buildings, John noticed the parked cab already there. The phone had led him here and so he decided to try exploring one of the buildings. Since it was unlocked, he strode quickly into it and walked upstairs. He checked several rooms before happening to glance through the window of the last room on the second floor. Suddenly he sprinted to the window shouting, "SHERLOCK!!" 

Not hearing him, Sherlock continued to transport the pill to his mouth when John pulled out his gun and quickly opened the window. Not having much time to line up the shot very well, John prayed that it would go straight and fired. Glass shattered and the cabbie fell to the ground, blood spurting from a wound in his chest. Sprinting out the door, John headed towards the other building to make sure that Sherlock was all right. Less than 3 minutes later, he ran into the room, previously occupied by Sherlock. Now, there was only a dead body surrounded by blood and a blue scarf about five feet away. 

Sherlock was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NO! What's gonna happen? you'll have to wait until next weekend I guess. ehehehehe.. *ahem* sorry. But as always let me know what you think! (and yeah i know i changed a bunch of stuff from the episode but I wanted to write it this way)


	13. Second in Command

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so late.. I got sick last weekend with a fever (and had to take a college placement exam and play for a wedding).. so yeah.. that's my excuse. But as always hope you enjoy it!

John was panicking. Sherlock would not have just run off like that... at least not anymore. He would have waited for John, or at least texted him. What had happened to him? Where could he be? John paced outside the building as sirens drew closer. Flashing lights appeared and soon the area was swarming with police officers and vehicles.

As the police corded off the area and started cataloging evidence, John tried to stand out of the way, but also close enough to hear any update that they might have. The longer they worked, the more worried John got. After all, Sherlock wasn't there to help find out what happened at his own abduction, and after so many years with Sherlock, the regular speed of the detectives seemed like a snail's pace. John began pondering what he should do. Mycroft had said he would be willing to help should the need arise, but should John call him? He had helped Sherlock find John, but he was still Mycroft. 

John started pacing again along the edge of the crime scene, deliberating on what to do. He was so intent on his thoughts that he didn't notice Greg and Sally walking up. 

"John."

At Greg's voice, John startled and stopped short to turn to him. 

"John, there's not much evidence. Only DNA and fingerprints here are Sherlock's and the cabbie's. By the way, the cabbie has a dislocated shoulder. We think it must have been Sherlock who did it. Maybe Sherlock left of his own accord. You don't know that he was kidnapped."

John looked at Greg incredulously. "He would have waited for me." He said with complete confidence, "Sherlock wouldn't have left me like that. Not after Afghanistan. You're sure you didn't miss anything?"

"We're sure John." Greg said tiredly.

Sally cleared her throat and hesitated before saying, "For what it's worth... I'm sorry John."

John considered her and was surprised to find that she seemed perfectly sincere. He was about to thank her when a snide voice broke in, "If you ask me, whoever was able to shut him up deserves a medal."

John whirled to face Anderson, fists clenching and ready to strike. He was about to stride forward when something shot past him. Before he could react, Anderson was sprawled on the ground clutching his cheek with Donovan stood above him glaring down with her hand pulling back from striking him. John stared at her, incredulous.

Still standing over him, Donovan spat out, "Shut up, Anderson. He's missing. Do not talk like that again."

After speaking, Donovan strode off to another officer who was calling her. Anderson scurried up and ran off to look at his cheek. John turned to Greg with his mouth hanging open and pointed towards Donovan's retreating back.

"What the hell just happened?"

"Oh she stopped seeing Anderson. Something to do with him being an idiot and not respectful. She's a bit more sympathetic to you and Sherlock now."

At that, Greg walked over to Donovan who had called him. As he left, John considered what Greg had just told him. After a while, a smile broke out on his face as he thought of Anderson's shocked expression as he looked up from the ground. He chuckled softly but then stopped when he remembered that Sherlock wasn't there to giggle with him. After another few minutes of thinking, he pulled out his phone and dialed the number that Mycroft gave him. He was ready to accept the help that Mycroft had offered.

♪♫♪

Sherlock groggily woke up, not sure how long he had been knocked out. As he gradually came out of a drugged stupor, he looked around the room to deduct what he could. He quickly found that he was chained to a cement wall in a small room. It was dimly lit by a single light on the ceiling and the faded white paint on the walls and ceiling was peeling and very dirty. The floor was covered with old, torn newspapers, leaves, dirt, and some broken glass that lined the wall to his left. A single window was above the wall to his back, but it had iron bars across it. The door on the opposite side of the room was wood, but it looked sturdy. Anyways, his chain was too short to reach it to attempt to get through it. 

Ah yes, the chain. Sherlock studied it to figure out if he could get out of it. The chain was too thick to break, but the manacles might give way with enough pressure applied in precise spots. He tested them, but quickly realized that they were new and would not be breaking anytime soon. He pulled the chain in frustration, then retreated to his mind to try and remember what happened. 

He had been with the cabbie, of that he was sure. He was about to take the pill (was he? he couldn't remember if he had decided to or not... no... he wasn't going to... wouldn't have been fair to John) when the glass shattered and the cabbie fell backwards with blood spurting out of his chest. A quick glance into the opposite building showed that it had been John (obvious.. of course it would have been John). He had approached the cabbie and forced enough pain on him to tell Sherlock who he had been working for (he had dislocated his shoulder.. quick and painful enough to get information out of an already dying man). OF COURSE! Sherlock remembered now... the cabbie had said he was working for Colonel Moriarty. 

That couldn't be though! Moriarty was dead. Sherlock had made sure of it himself. No, Moriarty was dead. But he had had a large web of followers. Could it be one of them who had taken over the operation? 

Yes, that must have been it... A follower of Moriarty's.. but WHO?

Sherlock had been sitting there for about 20 minutes since waking up now. He shook himself out of his reverie and tried to stand. He found that his legs were very weak and wouldn't quite support his weight yet. He sat back down and waited.

About five minutes later, the door to his room opened and a tall man entered. Sherlock immediately cataloged his features (tall, well-defined face, blue eyes, and reddish-brown hair and beard). He held a gun (Sherlock recognized it as an M4 carbine assault rifle) but put it down immediately, resting against the wall. He pulled a chair into the room and sat down directly in front of Sherlock. 

"Well, Mr. Holmes, you seem to be in a bit of a predicament. Unfortunate, that." He said with a cold grin.

Sherlock didn't say anything and after a pause, the man spoke again. 

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am S-"

"Sebastian Moran. Yes, I know." Sherlock interrupted. "I remember you from the base. Dishonorable discharge for helping Colonel Moran. You got off cheaply though. You were much more involved than the paper trail led to believe. You were his right hand man. He protected you."

Moran's smile grew. "Excellent, I don't have to introduce myself and go through all the boring part of telling you why I brought you here... I assume you know, correct?"

Sherlock inclined his head.

"Retribution for Moriarty's death. Tell me, how long had you been sleeping with him before I shot him in the head?"

Moran's smile diminished slightly, but he kept his facade up.

"What makes you think I was sleeping with him? Technically it would have been against military rules."

"Oh and you were all about keeping the rules, weren't you?" Sherlock replied sarcastically.

Moran ignored Sherlock's jibe and said, "I hope you are comfortable. You may be a while waiting. You see, I want Captain Watson to be here to witness your death, before I kill him. After all, both of you are responsible for Jim's death. Therefore, both of you will pay."

Sherlock instinctively tried to attack Moran, doing anything he could to prevent him from hurting John. Moran laughed from his seat.

"Ah.. not so much of a sociopath are you? Well this should be interesting. Now to wait for your friend to get here."

"Won't have to wait long, fucker." John's voice came from the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duh duh duh!!!! How did John find him so quick? (Don't worry.. I'll explain it next chapter) What's gonna happen? Stay tuned! (As always, comments are appreciated and welcome!)
> 
> P.S. I'm really sorry about all the cliff hangers.. I really don't mean to write so many.. they just sorta happen.. yeah.. sorry.


	14. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I'm so sorry for not updating! My excuse is that I had studying for a college entrance exam, playing for two weddings, and 2 weeks of finals in the past month. again.. sorry. But here it is! THe grande finale! At last we have reached the end... I do hope you enjoy it!

After John had called Mycroft, a car had quickly picked him up and taken him to an office. He entered and found Mycroft and Anthea (was that still her name?) waiting by a computer. 

"We have found him, John." Mycroft said somberly.

"Where is he?" John demanded, "Who has him?"

"We have identified him as former Major Sebastian Moran. He was stationed with your outfit before being dishonorably discharged for being an accomplice to Colonel Moriarty. He disappeared shortly after his discharge and hasn't been seen since. Until now, that is." Mycroft replied.

"Well if you know where he is, let's go! What are we waiting for? We need to get Sherlock back." 

Mycroft replied, "John, we aren't sure what is going on. We can't get surveillance inside the building and it could be rigged with something."

John stared at him, unimpressed. He replied, "Mycroft, sometimes you have to be able to run before you can crawl. I'm going there and I'm getting Sherlock back. If you want to send men after me that's fine, I may need their help. But you are not going to stop me from getting him back."

Mycroft studied John for a moment, then glanced at Anthea before turning back to John. "Very well. I will send you ahead in the car and my men will be shortly behind. Do be careful will you? I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

John heard the undercurrent of apprehension for John and Sherlock in Mycroft's voice. He knew that Mycroft was worried about both Sherlock and John, despite his protestations that he felt nothing. John left the building again and sat back in the car. He pulled out his gun to check it while the driver drove to wherever Sherlock was being kept before re-hiding it in his jacket. After about a 20 minute drive, the driver pulled up to a corner. 

"I was ordered to drop you off here, sir. So as not to endanger Mr. Holmes. The building where he is being held is around the corner and down a block. Good luck, Doctor Watson." The driver said.

"Thanks." John said curtly before stepping out of the car and cautiously making his way to the corner to look down. He immediately was able to pick it out, since it was the only one still standing. _'Talk about cliche. He just had to pick an old, dilapidated warehouse.'_ John thought. He pulled out his gun from his jacket and flicked the safety off before  cautiously making his way toward the building, watching for look-outs or traps. Seeing nothing as he arrived at the entrance, he pushed the door open and checked the inside of the building. It was empty except for a worn-out mattress, some bedding, and a rickety old table and chair. The table had a single battery-powered lamp on it and an old cup of coffee. John finally noticed a staircase to the second floor. He made his way up as quietly as he could, wincing at each squeak in the steps. 

Once he reached the second floor, he found himself in a hallway with a few rooms on both sides. He heard talking coming from one of the rooms but couldn't make out words so he snuck up to it and listened. 

"...assume you know, correct?"

It was Moran. John remembered his voice vaguely from Afghanistan. Suddenly, John started, hearing Sherlock's raspy voice.

"Retribution for Moriarty's death. Tell me, how long had you been sleeping with him before I shot him in the head?"

John nearly gasped. Moran had been sleeping with Moriarty? What?

Moran responded before he could continue his train of thought.

"What makes you think I was sleeping with him? Technically it would have been against military rules."

John was just able to keep from snorting, _'Like Moran or Moriarty would have been too choked up at breaking a few rules.'_

Sherlock voiced John's thoughts, "Oh and you were all about keeping the rules, weren't you?"

John waited for Moran's reply, but Moran ignored Sherlock's sarcastic comment in favor of stating, "I hope you are comfortable. You may be a while waiting. You see, I want Captain Watson to be here to witness your death, before I kill him. After all, both of you are responsible for Jim's death. Therefore, both of you will pay."

Practically snarling now, John leaned toward the door to hear Sherlock's reply. It never came, except in telltale noises of chains being jerked as Sherlock tried to attack Moran. 

Moran emitted a dark chuckle before replying, "Ah.. not so much of a sociopath are you? Well this should be interesting. Now to wait for your friend to get here."

_'Well here goes nothing.'_  John thought as he pushed the door open.

"Won't have to wait long, fucker."

John pointed his gun at Moran's head and moved to place himself with his back to a wall, his military training automatically kicking in leading him to position himself in the least vulnerable position possible. 

"Really, Captain Watson? You threaten me with a pistol when I'm holding a rifle? I expected you to be smarter than that. But of course it's Sherlock who is the smart one."

"You know, it's really cute that you think you can beat me when you are threatening the person I love most. I would have thought that you had learned that. But of course, it was always Moriarty who was the brains of your operation wasn't it? You were just the brawn that he would occasionally fuck to keep you loyal." John jeered. 

Moran's face twisted into an ugly glare before he pointed his rifle at Sherlock's head. 

"I would warn you, Watson, you would not be able to kill me before I can put a few bullets in your boyfriend's head."

An unnerving grin grew on John's face as he faced Moran. "Who says I'm going to kill you alone?" John asked before shouting, "NOW!"

Chaos erupted in the room. Both guns fired, one bullet emitting from John's pistol and 3 more from Moran's 3-round assault rifle. Moran's bullets plastered into the ceiling, from where Sherlock had twisted it up with a hand freed from a shackle. John's however, had found his mark in the middle of Moran's forehead. Blood gushed onto Moran's stupefied face as he fell backwards, crashing into and breaking the chair he had previously been sat on. Rushing to Sherlock's side, John checked his hand for injury, positive that he must have broken it releasing it from the handcuff. He was astonished to find that his hand was in its usual pristine condition. John's look of inquiry was met with a grin and Sherlock's raised hand that held a thin wire he had used to pick the lock. 

"I found it on the ground while we were talking."

John huffed a laugh at his boyfriend's resourcefulness, before grabbing him and hugging him tightly. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. Never get kidnapped again unless I'm with you. You probably took about 10 years off my life from my worrying."

"Ridiculous, John. The notion that worrying takes years off a person's life is completely preposter..."

Sherlock's last words were cut off as John kissed him. Sherlock continued to attempt to talk until John pulled back and said, "Oh shut up, you great git. Let's get you out of here."

John took the wire from Sherlock and quickly picked the lock on the other shackle that bound Sherlock's other wrist before examining the damages done and making a mental list of what he would need to do to speed up the healing process. After checking his injuries, John helped Sherlock to stand. They walked out the door, Sherlock leaning on John, when they heard a commotion downstairs. John leaned Sherlock up against the wall and pulled his gun, wishing he had picked up the assault rifle. However, his fear was unwarranted as it was just Mycroft's men who had arrived. 

"He's in there." John said, nodding his head toward the room they had just exited. Mycroft's men nodded and a few went to attend to Moran's body, while others offered help to Sherlock. Refusing, Sherlock reached a hand toward John, who willingly pulled the hand around his shoulder again so that he could help the man downstairs. A car was waiting to take them home, thankfully free of anyone but a stoic driver who didn't say a word through the whole trip. When they arrived back to 221B, Mrs. Hudson came to meet them and fussed over them both, following them up the stairs with a pot of tea and plate of biscuits on a tray, all the while reminding them that she still wasn't their housekeeper. After she had finished her fussing, she went back to her own flat to give John and Sherlock some time alone. 

The two men had settled in on the sofa, John sitting up with Sherlock lying down with his head in John's lap. One of John's hands stroked Sherlock's dark curls and the other was holding one of Sherlock's hands, resting on Sherlock's chest. 

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"I was right."

"About?"

"It does take more than a little war to keep us from coming home to each other."

Sherlock said nothing, but both men knew that no matter what came their way, they would stick together. After all, every self-proclaimed high-functioning, maybe-not-so-sociopathic, consulting detective needs a good, ex-army captain, and current doctor/blogger at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there it is! All finished. Comments? Questions? I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
